My Memoirs by Musa Anter (III)
Kendal
by Musa Anter
The third instalment of Musa Anter's book translated by Iskender Ozden
MY FATHER'S DEATH AND MY MOTHER
One of my saddest memories of primary school days
was the death of my paralysed father. When I came
home on my first school holiday I was not allowed
to see my father. When I asked about him, they told
me not very convincingly that he had gone to see a
doctor. Later, my aunt Nure came from Adig and
started to cry. That was how I learned of my father's
death. I ran to the cemetery and clung to his grave. I
still feel the pain as though it had happened today.
My mother died while I was under arrest in 1963.
Right up to her last breath, she wanted so much to
see me, "Ka nehat, Ka nehat" which, translated from
the Kurdish means, "He didn't come, He didn't come".
And then she died.
Returning to my village, my mother was able to
see that her wish had come true. I could now
communicate with the soldiers, the mayor for our
town, the judge and even the gendarmerie captain. I
also communicated with tax collectors, forestry
officials and semi-police officials although they
seemed a bit uneasy with me, I wondered if I scared
them in some way.
Once or twice I mentioned going on to secondary
school to my mother. But it made her angry. "What
do you mean? You have grown up and learned
Turkish. Do you still expect me, a woman, to
administer this village?"
I really missed school. At the end of August, my
mother sent me and a xulam (servant) to Mardin city
to purchase some things for the farm. I rode the horse
and the xulam a mule. I remember being dressed very
smartly, like the Kurdish folk dancers of today. It
was evening by the time we reached Mardin city and
as we rode through the high street, someone called out
to me "Musa, Musa!". When I stopped, I realised
that it was Mr Sabri, our school inspector. Although I
was very successful in my studies there was a
particular reason why Mr Sabri loved and cared about
me.
Mr Sabri was from Gemlik town and he had
brought from Gemlik a man called Ali and his family
to be our school caretaker. Ali, his wife and son lived
in one of the school's rooms. I liked the son very
much, so that if I had any spare time we would go out
for walk together. One day I went to their room to
collect their child and take him for a walk. As I
entered the room, I
realised something was amiss. The mother and child
were Iying on the floor. I shouted for help. Teachers
and some workers took them out of the room and put
them on their beds outside on the snow. They had
been poisoned by the smoke from the coal fire. If I
had not arrived when I did, they would all have died.
At a special meeting at the school, they praised me as
a hero and gave me some gifts. Mr Sabri called me
"my angel son-saver."
Of course I jumped off my horse and kissed his
hands. Looking at me affectionately, he said, "Well,
well, my son, what a smart outfit you are wearing."
He then asked me why I had not been attending
school. I explained that we could not afford it. He
promised to help me and I was to attend Gazipasa
School from first thing next morning.
That morning I arrived extra early and Mr Sabri
was waiting for me. He turned to the Director of
Education saying "Director, this child is the most
successful student of all the schools in Mardin city,
including even my own. Will you give me permission
to let him take today's exams? We can complete his
paperwork later. I still have his graduation certificate
in my school." The director gave his consent to Mr
Sabri and so he was able to take me to the
examination room.
I still do not know if it was just my luck. But the
exams being held were for the unpaid boarding
schools. They gave me pencil, rubber and examination
papers. After the exam, Mr Sabri asked me to return
to the school next day to take another exam.
Having taken the exam the following day, Mr
Sabri checked my examination papers, all the time
patting me on the head. I had the distinct feeling that I
had been successful. Without really reflecting on what
was happening, I returned to my village. My mother
wanted me to get married even though I was only 14!
Having been away and studied I found myself
rejecting her request.
The new school term had just started. I grew
more restless, but did not know what to do about it.
Months passed like this until one day my mother
asked someone to buy some halva (a sweet, prepared
with sesame oil and syrup or honey) from Nusaybin
town. The halva was wrapped in newspaper. I took
the wrapping paper to read how well I remember it
now the newspaner was llakimivet (which later
became Ulus).
In the centre pages was a long list. There were the
results of the "Leyla Meccani" Secondary and Lycee
examinations. The list was in order of city names. I
checked out Mardin city and there, at the top of the
list, was my name: "Sehmuz son of Anter" who was
to attend the Adana Boys Lycee. I then realised that
the paper was two months old, and I had never
received a letter confirming I had passed the exams.
For a moment I went crazy at the thought of my lost
opportunity of attending school. Then, without telling
anyone, I went to see the head of the city authorities
who had always criticised me for not continuing my
education. As I showed him the newspaper, I found
myself in tears. He assured me that he would sort it all
out for me and when I tried to explain that my mother
would not let me go to school anyway, he told me not
to intervene as he would resolve the problem.
He then called two semi-police officers and
instructed them to go and fetch Lady Fesla. Next
morning I was watching the road in great excitement
and saw my mother sitting on a horse riding towards
me. She looked very sad. She was always sad or
frightened by anything involving a gendarme or a
stranger. In fact she used to hide me and my brothers,
Hasan and Yusuf, in the cave if any of these came to
the village.
It seems that the reason for this was that in 1926
my father's cousin Ibrahim, who lived in the village of
'Xerabkort' in Syria, had a dispute over a piece of land
with the landowner, Bire Hiso of Cuva village in
Turkey. During this armed feud, Ibrahim killed Bire
Hiso, his two cousins, two soldiers and the head of
Stelile city, Mr Ahmet. This incident haunted my
mother.
When my mother arrived we went into the
director's office. The director was a Kurd from
Diyarbakir, so he spoke in Kurdish to my mother.
"Listen my sister, you know I always try and protect
you and your children from the government, but this
time I cannot as the order comes from Ankara." He
placed docurnents on the table and explained that the
documents ordered Lady Fesla to send Sheho* to
school or the whole village would be sent into exile in
Ankara.
The director acted out his role and my mother
believing him, started to weep saying "We had
nothing to do with the Ibrahim Mahmud incident".
She continued, adding that she was a poor widow
with orphans who needed pity. What ever
could the Ankara government want of her?
The director did not allow my mother's
tears to sway him, but continued saying he
was powerless to do anything. In the end
my mother had no choice but to give in. I
was to go to school. The director was
delighted. He rang Mardin to tell them but
could get no reply. He kept trying but in the
end only managed to contact Nusaybin
train station to find out when a train would
be leaving for Adana city. It was the very
next day.
We hurriedly returned to the village and
my mother told the village the whole story.
They were saddened because, each time a
Kurd had ever been taken away from the
village by the Turkish government, he
never returned! It was like a funeral while
my mother packed my things. Next day
was worse with my mother and villagers
sobbing as they watched me leave.
My mother was the daughter of Husene
Sare, leader of the Binyatki tribe. They
were from the Yezidi sect (Yezdani Ilahi)
and had only converted to Islam in recent
times.
My grandfather is interesting, as he
kidnapped my grandmother to be his wife.
She was the daughter of a not very friendly
and authoritarian tribal leader. So bad was
his reputation and so brutal was he that the
Kurdish villagers used to call him "GOD of
Cole village" - Birim Aze.
Naturally my grandfather's and
grandmother's families wanted nothing to
do with them, so they were not allowed to
live in the area.
However, my grandfather started his
own village, building a Chateau in Xaniya
Xek. He no longer recognised either family
and for security gathered together many
Yazidi armed guards. He gathered these
people from the jobless or people who, for
various reasons, were not respected in
Kurdistan. He then intimidated four of the
neighbouring villages to sell some of their
land, gardens and fields to him. And that is
how today's village was set up.
My mother grew up in this environment.
You may have noticed that my
grandfather's name was Husene Sare
which meant that he had taken his mother's
name instead of his father's which was
Mahmud. There are many brave women
among the Kurds. Many of the brave and
powerful sons mentioned in history books
are still known by their mothers' names.
My mother said to me one day: "Even
though your father died young, people still
call you 'Anter's Musa', they don't call you
'Fesle's Musa' which means I have not
been as brave as your father. I don't mind
that, because your father was a great,
brave and respected man. I respected
him."
My father Anter, when he was young,
was paralysed as the result of a brain
haemorrhage but my mother looked after
him like a baby for seven years. My
youngest brother Yusuf Anter was a
product of those years.
Many disasters struck our area as the
Turkish Republic was formed. The
Temikan tribe which inhabited 25 villages,
became part of Syria when the borders
were drawn. Many of the young people
from our village migrated to Syria as well,
leaving no qualified man for mayor. It was
so bad that my mother even paid an old
man, a veteran of the first world war to be
village mayor. His name was Sileman
Temo and he was able to speak a few
words of Turkish such as, 'come' and 'go'.
He died a year later and my mother had no
choice but to become the village mayor
herself. I believe that, if it were looked into,
she was probably the first woman state
official in Turkey.
Never seeing my father on his feet I
obviously remember, at all times, seeing my
mother. When people asked me where I
gained my political and literary identity, I
always reply without hesitation that it came
from my illiterate mother. My mother's
advise was "Lawo tu cari li bexte Tirkan u
Ereban ewle mebe" which means "Never
trust the Turks or the Arabs and always
act like a man, be brave and care for your
people".
Prince Salih was the last ruler of the
principality of Sirvan in Kurdistan. In
addition to being its ruler, he also wrote 'A
History of Kurdistan' and books of poetry.
In one poem, he gives his son almost iden
tical advice as that which my mother was
to give me centuries later:
Salih digot kure xwe,
Emanet e feqire,
Pesi dest bi ilm bike,
Pase bike necirvan,
Geft uxebate xwe bike,
Ne wek bav u bapire.
Salih says to his son,
Always help the poor people,
Study first, then hunt for
leisure,
Work and struggle,
But not
like your father or ancestors.
The ruler, Prince Salih is here trying to
explain that although his ancestors had
made mistakes, his son should not repeat
the same mistakes but should work for the
benefit of his people. Prince Salih was
nicknamed 'Ahraz', which means 'deaf'.
There are many strong Kurdish women
such as Leyla Qasim and Zekiye Alkan
whose bravery is acknowledged. But I am
here writing this as tribute to all the
anonymous middle eastern and Kurdish
women, many who like my mother, were
illiterate.
* I was called Sheho and not Musa by
the people. There was a famous Sultan
called Sheik Musa. His reign was not
associated with force or bloodshed but
with enlightenment. He was the Sultan of
intellectuals. And the name of Sheik
Musa became Shehmuz amongst the
people. According to Kurdish tradition
names are given "o" ending as in Italian
which makes it easier to pronounce
them. For example: Fatma (Fato) Hasan
(Haso). Ibrahim (Ibo) etc.
Musa Anter
--
Kendal
The Kurdish Information Network: http://nucst11.neep.wisc.edu